


Little Flame Fighting On

by CaptainJimothyCarter



Series: Winterhawk Bingo [3]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Barney Barton is a good bro, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Barton is deafened here, Clint Barton-centric, Clint gets hurt and it makes the author sad, Deaf Clint Barton, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Matt Fraction-inspired Clint Barton, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Canon, Protective Bucky Barnes, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, Violence, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, WinterHawk Bingo, sort of canon but not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26719702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainJimothyCarter/pseuds/CaptainJimothyCarter
Summary: Soulmates are not a rare thing in this reality. You grow up, knowing you're connected to someone out there and can only feel it and see it when your soulmate is in pain. Your vision and hearing become theirs, living life through their eyes for that one brief moment.That's why Bucky isn't sure he can be too mad at the fact his soulmate is an idiot who loves to fall into dumpsters and drink too hot coffee, because as the Winter Soldier he's sure his soulmate has felt his fair share of pain.Most of all Bucky knows that his soulmate is the reason that he's no longer Hydra's plaything, their very first shared vision is what severs the connection. He's lucky and thankful, that's why he keeps a rift between them so he can never bring Hydra onto the man's doorstep.That rift is broken when Clint is almost killed when his own arrows are stabbed into his ears. They're both broken but together, he likes to think there's something there worth fighting for.
Relationships: Barney Barton & Clint Barton, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Winterhawk Bingo [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891774
Comments: 8
Kudos: 110
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo Round Two





	Little Flame Fighting On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trashkingtater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashkingtater/gifts).



> This is another installment for my Winterhawk Bingo with the square: Soulmates.
> 
> This sort of takes on Hawkeye 2012 but also doesn't? It's not really canon compliment, but I had to write my own fix-it fic because goddamnit that issue hurt me so much.

He was going to kill him. 

Out of  _ all  _ soulmates to be matched with, he had to get the one that was constantly in some form of pain, constantly getting himself hurt. Though Bucky supposed he wasn’t much better for his beloved either. The poor man had the worst luck with being matched with the Winter Soldier. And Bucky had the poor luck of being matched with some fucking idiot. 

An idiot who had a fetish for falling into dumpsters, burning his tongue on impossibly hot coffee, and getting his nose broken.

The pain from a soulmate was different from what Bucky was used to. It tugged on his very soul and left scars to be unseen. A deep void resided inside of him echoing when the pain ebbed away, clenching and swirling around nothingness, begging to be filled. It left him shaken to his very core. It was a soul-crushing pain he’d wish on no other soul and only wanted to protect his beloved from it. 

Though, Bucky was grateful, actually, more than his soulmate could ever know. The first time he’d seen through his soulmate’s eyes it broke through his brainwashing. He’d gone a week without being forced into that machine. He’d missed his target, just by a fraction of an inch and all because of his soulmate. The first time he felt that pain, with no vision, was a white-hot pain between his eyes. It caused him to jerk the gun just slightly and send the bullet through an abandoned apartment’s window.

His handler told him to figure it out from there and the Soldier knew what this was. A test and he was rapidly failing. 

Two days later, he got his first glimpse into his soulmate’s life.

_ A boot connected to his face, sending him backward. A shuddering gasp escaped his lips, tasting blood in his mouth. His head swirled, pounding at the temples. Above him was a face that mirrored his own, but harder with age. He could smell the booze, the smell staining his nose, a scent that would never leave. _

_ His father. _

_ The older man reached down to wrap his fist around his shirt and jerk him up by the collar, his feet dangling just inches off of the ground. A grunt escaped his lips as he was slammed into the barn’s wall, a rusted nail digging into the base of his spine. _

_ He struggled, as anyone would. Kicking, grunting, screaming. He was shouting at him, the words dulled like he had cotton in his ears. He didn’t need to read his lips or to hear him to know the man was angry. His drunken rage had turned into the little one’s direction. The failure. The worthless one. _

_ As the hand rose to backslap him, something he’s come to expect, the drunken man’s face twisted before he crumbled and dropped him to the ground. Quickly he scrambled away until his back hit the far wall, gripping the shard of a broken bottle that had long been forgotten about. A figure stood over his father, tossing aside the now broken beer bottle. He tensed as they stalked towards him, the dying sunlight gleaming down on the familiar auburn hair that mirrored their father’s. _

_ Barney. _

_ Slowly his hand, scarred and bruised, and two times as small as his brother’s curled into the others and he was pulled to his feet and embraced. _

_ “I told you,” Barney sighed into his ear, his hands pulling the smaller kid tightly against his chest. “You gotta get back up, we gotta outlive the bastard.”  _

The poor guy. He’d gone through hell, hadn’t he? Between an abusive father that Bucky craved nothing but to snap his neck, towards the life of a carnie and doing everything he could to survive. 

Because of him, his soulmate, he got his first taste of freedom in decades and Bucky was grateful. Though he knew the risk of being the Asset and that Hydra wouldn’t let him go, at least not quite as easy. He had to distance himself from his soulmate and keep to himself so the man couldn’t find who he was or where he was going. Hell, Bucky didn’t even know that himself. All he knew was he had to find himself.

Bucky was no stranger to pain but this pain was something else. A buildup of anxiety that would cause the champagne bottle to explode, he could feel it working in his chest as he wandered the city in a daze. It was burning, damn well almost choking him with the sensation. He’d crawled into a backend alley beside some dumpster and forced himself to the slimy ground. He wasn’t going to last long if his soulmate insisted on this anxiety-inducing pain. He’d wanted it over with. He wanted Clint to get his life together so he could stop living in fear.

This was fear, wasn’t it? An emotion that Bucky knew quite well. Fear that stemmed from the worry of being found, of endangering civilians’ lives around him, from going back to  _ them. _ He hasn’t been with them for years. They hadn’t found him quite yet. He’s kept a distance, a good distance, and knows how to avoid cameras and hide his face by now. The whispers of the Soldier, the Asset fell on deaf ears now, and far as he was concerned, he was nothing but a rumor at this point.

The brunette let out a shuddering gasp, dragging his flesh hand over his mouth to over it. The stench of the dumpster beside him tasted no better than it smelled. The champagne bottle had popped, the cork flying off and releasing the contents inside. The sticky, bubbly liquid expanding rapidly in his chest, filling his veins, contracting his muscles.

Waiting. Waiting for that  _ perfect  _ moment to strike. 

_ Clint, what in the hell are you doing?  _

This was the last thing that Bucky had ever prepared for.

White-hot pain exploded in his ears. It seared through his mind and caused his vision to instantly go blind, his head filled with ringing and stabbing pain. It was made worse when  _ something  _ was dragged through his ears, pushing deeper and harder, scraping the insides, and permanently damaging what laid inside. Instantly Bucky’s world went black and deaf. The ringing was loudly chiming until it faded into nothing. The sounds of the city were gone.

Even through Clint’s eyes, as his silent screams left his body withering on the soiled ground of the alley, he knew the man was close to death, closer than he’s ever known before. 

And yet that fighting spirit wouldn’t give up. The flame dampened and flickering in the dangerous winds of the storm, threatened by a tremendous gust to blow it out, still fighting to light the way for them. 

_ Barney.  _

_ The look of his terrified older brother standing above him, just inches away from his slumped form would haunt him for the rest of his days. The tiled floor was cold beneath his hands and a welcomed sensation to how warm he felt. In the back of his mind, he knew that wasn’t good. None of this was good. Blood poured from his ears as the arrows were dragged deeper, the damage done. They were pushed even further and the heads of the arrow broken inside.  _

_ He slumped to the floor and looked up at his brother’s stunned face, a thought lingering in the back of his mind that he should’ve swept the lobby. _

_ The assailant stands behind him, he can feel his presence. He’s fighting to stay conscious, darkness flickering in his vision. He knows there’s a gun, there’s always a goddamn gun. He can’t hear Barney or Kate, but he can see them. See his big brother whose he’s always been fighting with but owed his life to. Kate, his best friend who puts up with so much of his shit, who does so much for him, who he tries to give back but simply is too afraid to. _

_ The gun, it’s meant for him. It’s to finish the job, he knows it. The arrows, the pain of deafening him was just child’s play, a reminder that he’d not invincible, that he’s not bulletproof. It was a game to play. He wants the gun to fire, to kill him, to end this pain. Instead, it does the worst thing possible. _

_ It goes for Kate.  _

_ He makes a strangled sound, a warning, a gasp, something until he sees Barney throwing her out of the way in a split second. Two rounds are fired, straight into Barney’s gut. _

_ The blood pours out, bleeding amongst the yellow shirt as the elder Barton crumbles to the floor. _

_ Clint’s eyes close, the flame flickering and threatening to die out as the storm rages on, too tired to fight, too tired to just go on. Why did life have to be so hard? Why can’t he just lie here and die?  _

_ It would make a lot of people happy.  _

_ He’s sorry for everything, for harming every single person in his life. For pushing them away. He’s sorry for involving Barney and Kate, for Bobbi and Natasha too. And most of all, he’s sorry for his soulmate. The sorry bastard whose having to live through all this.  _

_ I’m sorry.  _

“I’m sorry too,” Bucky whispered, Clint’s thoughts lingering in his head. He’s not even sure if he should be hearing his thoughts or if its an effect from him nearly dying. “But you’re not dying today. Not until I have a chance to kill you first, you stubborn bastard.”

It takes everything the Winter Soldier has in him, but he’s on his feet again, staggering like a drunken man out of the alley. The world is too bright. Too happy. The sun is shining down on him and people are laughing and smiling and too close together. He can’t hear them, all he can hear is the ringing in his ears and his heart beating.

The world doesn’t deserve to be happy, not when his soulmate is fighting for his life. Not when Clint Barton is about to die.

Bucky’s not sure what he’s about to do, but he’s very sure it’s about to be one of the stupidest choices of his life.  
  


* * *

  
Look up stupid in the dictionary and you’ll find a photo of James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes right next to the definition. He made the stupidest, most selfish, dangerous decision of his life to go  _ see  _ Clint Barton in the goddamn hospital.

It was late, too late for visitors at this hour, too late for the overnight shift of nurses to truly care and pay attention to who goes in and out of the rooms. Four days. That’s how long it took Bucky to get the courage to come in here and in that time it was touch and go for the Barton brothers for a while. Now, they’re stable or so he’s able to guess.

Clint and Barney are both in the same hospital room, he’s sure people are pulling the strings on that one. That girl that’s with him sometimes in his visions - Kate, she’s here too. She’s laid back in the uncomfortable recliner, a golden lab laying on her chest like a security blanket.

No one moves when Bucky enters, his footsteps quiet as he stands in the middle of the room. He takes in Kate first, watching her chest rise and fall in slumber. She’s dangerous, but she’s human. She’s exhausted and worried about her best friend fighting for his life. Clint still hadn’t woken up, Barney has, just for a few short spurts of a minute. His eyes always on his brother. The nurses have learned to push their beds close together or else Barney would risk falling out of the bed just to grasp his brother’s hand. 

A simple motion, Bucky found as he looked down at their joined hands, that’s enough to keep them both stable. They’re so alike and yet different, even outside of appearances. Both stubborn. Both ridiculous idiots, self-sacrificing for one another. He’s not sure about Barney’s past but he knows enough that he cares for Clint, even as a child and that’s enough for him. Not that they’re looking for the Asset’s approval.

They don’t even know he’s here. 

Bucky’s breath hitches as he slowly picks up Clint’s chart and uses the minimal light from the heart monitors to read the damage done.  _ Permanently defeaned.  _

Bucky’s hearing had long come back, but it’s still not the same. He doubts it ever will be the same again, having lost some of it in his connection with Clint. He doubts the serum would even help him at this point. 

“I’m sorry,” he finds himself whispering, lips barely moving. His eyes are on the sleeping blonde. His chest is barely rising and falling. They’d taken the tube from his throat, he’s able to breathe on his own. He looks deathly pale, enough for the freckles to shine like beacons on his cheeks and for the scar across his top lip to stand out. His hair is a mess from where Kate had been touching it. 

Suddenly, Bucky isn’t standing in the hospital now. He’s smaller, much smaller, in a crappier hospital that shouldn’t even qualify as one. There’s another blonde laying in the hospital bed with the same undying light of his flame never-ending, refusing to give up the fight despite its the easiest thing to do. He’s smaller, scrawny than Bucky. He looks deathly sick but he’s smiling at him like his life depends on it. Their hands are together and he’s whispering something, a promise that he won’t give up if Bucky won’t. 

Bucky promises. He won’t give up. He can’t give up.

Clint’s slight cough makes Bucky focus again, holding his breath as he watches the blonde shift on the bed before his head drops back down to his chest. He doubts the position is comfortable but he can’t risk rearranging him. The bandages are the worst around his head and over his ears. He’s had five surgeries in the past four days, the poor thing is lucky to be alive. 

“I should’ve been there,” he whispers, knowing not a soul is awake to listen. The dog is, but Lucky doesn’t count. “I should’ve done something, not push you away, and refuse to come to find you because I wanted you safe. You had your own enemies, trying to protect your people and you got hurt. I could’ve done something and I didn’t.”

He should go. There will be a change of nurses soon and he doubts anyone would like to see the Asset standing in the middle of the room, holding Clint Barton’s clipboard and watching him sleep. He should go find who did this and make them pay, give Clint some sanctuary into the feeling that Bucky wasn’t useless. 

He wonders if he could sever the bond somehow, free Clint of his pain of being bonded to the Soldier. He doubts that would ever exist and if it does, Clint deserves it.

Being this close to his soulmate makes his nerves singe, makes him feel on edge. This is the closest he’s ever been and he wants to kiss him, seal their bond. That’s the instinct, the one he’s squishing away. Like the instinct that calls on him to pet the dog that’s now at his feet. Lucky is staring at him with his one eye and giving a smile. He trusts him and nudges his hand with his nose.

Bucky can’t remember the last time he’s ever pet a dog.

_ “Who are you?”  _ Clint’s voice is raspy and drugged, slurring ever so slightly. He’s pitched just enough from being deaf, but low enough to know he has to keep it a whisper.

Bucky turns back around, unaware that he’d even been walking out. Clint looks even worse when he’s awake. He mirrors Lucky, one eye open and hair falling in his face. He looks a shade of green that makes the Asset think that he’s about to be sick and that’s not good for anyone. Clint knows he’s deaf, he’s just not conscious enough to recognize it at first. They have him drugged up enough to keep him from panicking. Not until he’s healed.

Despite this, Bucky’s shoulders shrug, and his face voids of all emotions. “No one,” he muses. “No one special.”

Clint watches as the man dressed in a leather jacket and a low baseball cap leaves, groaning as the drugs wash over him and he’s pulled back under by the waves of the sea.

The best choice of action is to leave, to put as much distance between him and Clint as possible. To live as a hermit so Clint can never trace him, so the man, this  _ hero  _ can live a beautiful life while Bucky lives his barely surviving one. After all the damage he’s done, it’s what he deserves.

That is the best choice of action, but its not the one he makes. The choice Bucky makes is a very selfish one. He stays. He sits on the rooftop of an adjacent building, backed up enough into the shadows that no one can spot him easily but he can see into the room and see everything going on.

Days go by and people pour into the hospital room as the Barton brothers’ recovery improves. There’s that blonde again, but this time not dying on a hospital bed and too skinny. He’s larger. Larger than life with broad shoulders and carries himself like he carries the world on them despite he does not have to. He looks almost in remorse as he gently hugs Clint and talks to him through choppy sign language that’s decades-old but it’s enough to get points across.

Clint doesn’t sign back. He hates it. He looks almost ashamed and barely reads their lips, just enough hold the barest of conversations to please them. Bucky notices. Barney notices, but no one else does. Clint hates himself for this and Bucky feels that shame for not protecting his soulmate grows even larger in the pit of his stomach.

There’s one visitor that Bucky isn’t surprised to see, especially when she makes eye contact with him through the window. She holds his gaze for two straight minutes, the message clear before she turns back to Clint. That’s why he’s not surprised to see a familiar redhead waiting for him when he comes back to his spot after patrolling the area. 

She’s just as he remembers, tall and poised, a scorpion waiting to strike with the tip of her tail. She’s dangerous in all sense of the word but he loves her in some manner. Some part of him belongs to her and vise versa. She’s silent as she stares at him, reading him, building him up just to take him down until she makes her assessment and passes over a steaming bag of takeout food and a cup of coffee.

“I knew the rumors were true,” she says while Bucky eats, stealing a fry here or there for herself. He doesn’t say otherwise, they’re used to sharing. Food, a bed, anything to survive. This isn’t survival now, is it? It’s the closest he can get to friendship with someone. “I didn’t believe you to be dead. The same way I refuse to believe Barton was dying. You’re both too stubborn to die.” 

He’s quiet, unsure of what to say. What is there to say? Anything he says, she will dismiss with a wave of her hand and a lecture on her tongue. Instead, they eat in silence until the bag is empty and the coffee cup is drained. 

“He’s deaf, not blind. He can feel you. He can feel you watching him at night. He won’t say it, but he’s waiting for you. I know you can feel him too. That connection has already been made and pulling that away from him now will hurt him.”

“It won’t kill him.” It won’t. He’s sure of it. 

“No, you’re right, it won’t kill him, but it will destroy him. Don’t you think you two have suffered enough for one lifetime? You especially, маленький. I think it’s time you dust yourself off and consider that you are no longer alone in this situation and that Clint is attached to you too. You do not need to be in pain any longer and punish yourself for deeds that weren’t your fault.” Natasha’s words are sincere, serious. Her emerald green eyes are dull in the limited light of the building but Bucky knows they’re full of life.

All he can do is sigh and hang his head, scratching at the back of his neck. What is there to say? She’s giving him a choice, but in reality, there is no choice.

“We’re moving the both of them to Avenger’s Tower tomorrow. They have a long road of recovery ahead and it’s better amongst friends than by themselves.” She pauses as she reads his stoic face, eyes taking in the damage their years apart had done to him. She silently pulls him in for a hug and a lingering kiss on his cheek before just like that, she’s gone.

  
  


A week. That’s how long it took Bucky to get the courage to finally enter Avengers’ Hospital. He’s sure Natasha has everything to do with the fact that he’s easily able to sneak in without some security breach alarm screaming in his ears. And he’s sure she’s the reason why Clint is alone when he hasn’t been alone for the past few days. 

Especially Barney wouldn’t leave his side. Bucky can see it. The pain in Clint’s face. More so than the physical pain that has to be brewing behind the sedatives and pain killers. He can see the pain of guilt, of his brother being hurt, of dragging people down into his mess. 

That’s the pain Bucky does not want for him. That he wants to soothe and there’s only one way he knows how.

Clint is sitting on edge of the hospital bed, wearing a pair of gray sweats and a purple shirt. The guy does love his purple. He looks up as Bucky enters, still wearing the grungy, grimy leather jacket. He’s showered at least, tried to make himself look a little presentable for the man of the hour.

_ “Hey,” _ Clint breaths, picking his head up. He’s wearing clunky, old hearing aids. He doesn’t look comfortable in them, but he’s wearing them at least. His eyes still fall to their lips to read, fingers twitching to sign. 

“Hey,” Bucky says right back, his fingers are signing, a force of habit when it comes to Clint. He doesn’t know what to say. There’s too much to say, it’s hard to pick just one topic. “I-I’m sorry...I didn’t stay...I was…”

Clint’s shrug cuts him off and Bucky’s eyes drop to the pristinely cleaned, tile floor. He hates hospitals. He hates the too clean smell, the bright lights. He’s expected to be taken and dragged to the chair at any moment. “Natasha told me everything about you a long time ago when I started getting…” He pauses and considers his words, ruffling his hand over his fluffy, blonde hair. “Visions of you, I suppose.”

The blonde clears his throat and they step closer, just one step more and he’d be towering over Bucky. His fingers fiddle with the aids and Bucky wants to capture his hands to stop them from messing with the old things. Stark was designing new ones, better ones, just for now Clint had to get used to wearing them again.  _ “So…”  _ The blonde balances on the balls of his sock-clad feet, hands dropping to his side. “We doing this?”

The Asset falls quiet again, merely nodding his head. He can’t look at Clint, he can’t bring himself to. Yes, he’s doing this, he’s made up his mind even if he’s uncertain. This would ruin Clint for good. Clint doesn’t deserve to have his flame snuffed out by the Soldier. 

“If you want,” he tells the archer. “I wanted to give you that choice, not make it for you. I don’t like making choices for others unless I have to.” It goes without saying why because Clint’s eyes soften. They’re a pretty shade of blue, crystal clear that makes him think he’s looking into a glacier. “You don’t  _ have  _ to do this if you’re doing it for me.”

“Just because Natasha has told me about you and what you’ve been through, James, it doesn’t mean I’m going to change my mind.” The name. His real name, not his nickname falls from Clint’s lips in such a soft tone that it takes Bucky a second to recognize it. He likes how he says it. “I made a promise when I was dying, okay? That I will make you safe or die trying.  _ Besides,  _ I think at this point I’m pretty hard to kill. Nothing like your own arrows being stabbed into you to make you realize what’s important in life.”

Bucky flinches at that and Clint cringes with him, giving a nervous shrug of his shoulders. “Sorry, yeah, Kate punched me when I mentioned that too. I guess the jokes too soon.”

Still, he continues while Bucky is silent, but their eyes meet and Bucky’s considering the words, he can tell. “I mean it, okay? I  _ will  _ protect you from those bastards. Natasha and Tony are already working on a new identity for you now. They’re erasing you from the system and any trace of you or your old life or even the Asset. Steve and Sam left this morning to track leads on Hydra. He uh -  _ Steve, _ he wants to see you but he says to do it in your own time. The offer is there, just like this offer. To do  _ this, ‘cause I don’t think we can turn back once we do this.” _

Steve wants to see him? Of course, he does. There’s much to discuss between them but that’s a whole conversation for another day. Right now, Bucky is focused on more important matters.

Clint’s still attached to a heart monitor, something he heard Doctor Cho and Banner agree on about stress levels. He can’t pretend to understand, but he knows he can hear Clint’s heart. He counts the beats and listens to how they increase when he closes the distance between them, taking Clint’s hand in his own. This height difference makes him feel safe and for once, Bucky believes his words.

“I want this,” he finally whispers, his lips barely moving. He’s never been so sure about a decision in his life.

“Good,” Clint replies, his lips twitching. “Because I do too.”

There’s no hesitation between them as both parties kiss. Clint’s arms wrapping around Bucky’s frame and pulling him close, protecting him. Bucky’s own arms finding their way around Clint’s waist, one burying into his hair. He has to stand on his toes to kiss him, but it’s worth it.

Bucky feels no different as they part, aside for flushes faces and dampened cheeks from their tears, but he knows they are. They’re  _ together.  _ Bonded, two halves of a whole that should’ve been together beforehand.

The future might be uncertain and bleak, but Bucky knows one thing, and that’s he has Clint by his side and that makes it okay. He won’t let his flame die out, not without a hell of a fight for both of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my stuff? Don't mind a shitload of Steggy posts? Follow me on CaptainAmericaPeggyCarterismysexuality on tumblr.


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